Night Shift at Freddy's
by Bunny Cop
Summary: A young man's looking for a job to help cover some costs during a rough patch in college, and he finds out an old childhood hangout is looking for a night watchman. He's thinking it's easy cash and a chance to reconnect with his childhood, but old Freddy Fazzbear's Pizza has darker secrets than he'd have believed were true...
1. Chapter 1

**Legal details: I don't own Five Nights at Freddy's, Scott Cawthon does. Which is a good thing.**

**Chapter 1: The First Day (Our protagonist)**

There's a point in your life where one tiny little decision will have unforeseen ramifications for the rest of it, no matter how long or short it will be. It could be as innocent as making a left turn instead of a right on your way to work, or maybe you'll decide to have lunch at that sub place on Elizondo Ave instead of getting chinese on Trenton St. Choosing between two different movies you want to see at a theater may accidentally lead to running into an old friend and rekindling that friendship, or you could end up in a bar fight after the movie with that same old friend that may lead to a lawsuit because you didn't meet him at the movies first.

You could decide to propose at dinner in a restaurant or at a family holiday event. You could check out one book instead of another at the Library. You could ignore that check engine light until you get paid. The point is, you won't realize how important that decision really is until it's too late.

As I sit here, terrified to open the doors to my booth at three in the morning, glancing at the wi-fi set up tablet hooked into the security cameras of the building, I come to realize finally that maybe it wouldn't have been so bad busing tables instead of night security in a cursed pizzeria.

Maybe I should back up a bit...

It's about four days ago, a monday morning and I'm sitting at the breakfast table going through the help wanted ads along with the two friends I share the two bedroom apartment with. Jon, the big guy that looks like he spent a couple years being punched in the face by Mike Tyson, is on my right checking through ads on Craigslist while eating cereal. Rico's at the other end from me, going through a Detroit Free Press' classifieds as opposed to my smaller local paper. We're all in college together -the where doesn't really matter- on scholarship but not full academic. Jon's made it on a sports scholarship while Rico...never was very clear about his source but we knew better than to ask. My ride was also a sport's scholarship, but mine was track while Jon was in for football, and between the three of us with our clever plans about cash and, of course in Jon's case, family, we were set for the school year.

The same couldn't be said for our living accommodations. They weren't bad, and we didn't mind the neighborhood. We could walk or ride the bus to class, which saved on gas. But it still meant we had to handle the rent and some of the utility costs on a month-to-month basis, not counting tiny expenses you don't think of that just add up from day to day. Then there's the food bill, of course. We didn't mind at first, because we'd had both savings and a source of income. A source that had dried up when Jon lost his job. Rico is a graphic artist, so he had cash coming in from commissions online, but it wouldn't be enough especially since he also had to attend classes. As for me? I'd gotten my guard card right out of high school, and I'd sold my dad's comic collection he left me after passing. That money was running out too, and I'd just been forced to leave the mall for reasons too stupid to explain.

So there we all were, being forced to the edge of things and looking for a way to gain some financial breathing room, marking down possibilities and writing down phone numbers to call. That was when I came across it. "Well well well..." I said aloud, sitting up to a more fully awake position, coffee and scrambled eggs forgotten. Rico glanced over at me, curious. Rico Ramirez is bad boy latino handsome, that kind of face you'd see being one of the important gang members in a crime movie, though the difference with him is he actually had street cred once. Me and Jon had known him in school too, but 'friends' was hardly the word until our Sophomore year when we all made peace after years of posturing and fights. I think Rico's 'crew' being rounded up by the cops was a big factor in that.

Jon, on the other hand, didn't look up. I'd made that sound before in school, and he knew it well. I'd seen something interesting. Jon, unfortunately, was the kind of blunt faced guy you saw playing the big dumb thug on TV. And at six-three two-twenty, he was a bruiser too. But he wasn't a bad guy. He liked to box more than football, but didn't want to do it professionally. His blue eyes, though, were eyes of a warm soul that laughed a lot. And he'd had a lot to laugh at through the years, as time and again I got my foot in my mouth.

Looking up to them both, a smile crossed over my slightly tanned caucasian features. "Gentlemen, I, Jeremy Titus, have found an answer to my employment." I said, still smiling but it was not in triumph. It was in nostalgic recognition. With that, I held up the newspaper, getting both of them to look at what I'd just circled.

_Freddy Fazbear's Pizza_

_Family Pizzeria looking for security guard to work the nightshift. 12Am to 6am._

_Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters._

_Not responsible for injury/dismemberment._

_To apply call_

_1-888-Faz-Fazbear_

The two of them were staring at the ad, then me, both of them had disbelief clearly written on their faces. "No. Fucking. Way." Jon said, grinning like a kid. "That place is still open? You've gotta be kidding me!" "Man, I thought that place woulda been closed down loong ago. Economy's not that good for a place like Freddy's." Rico said, his rough latin accent flavoring his words. He spoke perfect english, but we all knew he maintained the accent for 'flare'. Helped that he spoke spanish just as perfectly. And swore in it even better.

Everyone growing up in that one part of town remembers a couple places where some of your fondest memories are tied. For us, one of those places had been Freddy Fazzbear's. Growing up, Fazbear's Pizza was our hang out, right in the arcade section when our parents wanted an afternoon with us in safe supervision and they wanted free time, and Rico'd been there a few times too for his own reasons. But it was there we'd brokered our peace over melted slices of cheesy pizza and cups of Pepsi before an afternoon of skeeball and an old _Final Fight_ cabinet. For me and Jon, it was a place of fond memories. Rico? The turning point of his life, or so he said.

Small things with unforeseen, long reaching consequences.

"But there's their ad.' I said, grinning triumphantly. "Bold as brass. Freddy's lives and needs help. Gentlemen." I said, putting on a faux British accent, the one old poshy generals have in the movies. "I do declare that we owe a debt of honor to Sir Fazbear, and propose we repay him with out services. What do you say" "Hear hear" "Quite right, old chap!" Came the responding fake brits, the three of us caught in the moment for a bit and doing some good nature 'harrumphing' before we relaxed.

Rico was first, he tended to be. "Guess that's you, mano. Give 'em a call, flash your card and you're in. It mention pay?" I glanced at the ad again as I settled back into my chair. "No, but hardly surprising. Probably not high pay to begin with." I said with a knowing sigh. Jon had resumed eating his cereal, but he soon paused long enough to swallow and wave a spoon disappointingly. "Shame they don't need three. We'd have the mother fucker on lockdown..." "Damn right." I said in response, chuckling as my sense of humor treated me to the mental image of the three of us all wandering in our place of childhood memories at 2 in the morning, fending off petty thieves breaking in for the safe. The petty thieves turned into ninjas, just because that's how my brain worked.

It couldn't be the only option, I reminded myself. But even as we returned to looking through our respective sources for employment, I already knew what I wanted. We hadn't been to Freddy's since the end of high school, maybe a little after it. A fact I sometimes felt guilty about. I missed Freddy and the crew and their cheesy songs, that greasy pizza I made sure to thank Chica for, the silly pirate accent Foxy had while he told Errol Flynn type stories.

It was time to go back, and that's what prompted me that afternoon after classes were over for me to make the call and ask for an interview. And besides, the whole thing had an interesting appeal. From 12 to six I'd be by myself in a closed up pizzeria monitoring cameras. Shifting around my sleep schedule, I could spend most of the time studying or catching up on that small collection of paperbacks I'd been letting build. Hells, maybe I'll even get a nap in or two. The job couldn't be that hard, even if the hours weren't all that appealing.

And it'd be better than dealing with some asshole complaining about his eggs if I took up busing tables. What's the worst that happens, someone breaks in and I have to scare off some dumb kids acting tough? I'm not a big bruiser like Jon is, but I'm still a fairly fit guy. Aside from running track, all three of us were sparring partners through out our lives together, and I hadn't slouched in my training of savate and more modern kick boxing. I'd likely be armed as well, what could an old Pizzeria attract to really threaten me?

I wanna travel back in time and kick myself for giving the Universe such a perfect opening line...

Here's a couple tips for anyone out there seeking employment. If the place you're calling grants an immediate or same day interview? They need personnel and are probably gonna be lenient on their standards. Likely a high turnover rate or emergency. If that place, however, is willing to hire you over the phone, on the spot? Shady. Ask yourself if it's really worth walking into trouble you probably only know what's being openly admitted.

That being said...hind sight IS 20-20, and when you're a college student with only so many hours in the day, you can be forgiven for jumping at a chance for paying work. Well, maybe you shouldn't, but there's atleast some degree of understanding.

The phone call to the pizzeria had been surprisingly, a quick one. I didn't get to call them right away like my room mates had suggested, too caught up in that morning as we realized we'd all missed the damned time change and we were sooo not going to be on time. It wasn't until around lunch I gave it a shot, crossing my fingers.

Ring.

Ring  
Click.  
"Freddy Fazzbear's Pizza, A place where fantasy and fun come to life. This is Rachael."

Well, hello! Cutie on the phone! I'll have to swing by during the day as well. Crap, focus, man! "Jeremy Titus, I'm calling about the guard position. Night Shift? If it's still available, I-"  
"One moment!" Well, she sounded relieved for some reason, I thought, as I heard the receiver get set down and there was the faint noise of receding footsteps. It took a minute, maybe, before I got an answer in the form of an older male voice replacing the young, peppy sounding girl. "Hello, still there Mr Titus?" "Yes I am, sir." Always be respectful. "David Ross, I'm the day manager for the pizzeria. You want the guard position?" "Yes, Mr Ross. I've got my guard card here-" "Read it off?"

Huh. He was already prepared for that. I read off the string of numbers and letters, and could hear someone typing on a keyboard on the other end. Most employers looking to hire security guards either hire through an existing agency or can check independent licensed guards through a database. They need access from the state government, of course, but I don't know how they get it.

"J. Titus...alright, good record. Says here you-" "I know the incident in question. I was cleared." "Ah, so it also says in the added notes...Alright, Jeremy, be here at 11:30 to get the tour." "...Seriously?" "Your record's clean, and I need someone here at night pronto. Just be prepared to sign the usual NDAs and you're good." "Y-yes sir!" I shut my phone, blinking in surprise at my good fortune while staring at the phone. The surprise turned to a grin as I double checked my stuff and hoofed for the apartment to get in a couple hours sleep.

**Author's Notes: Well, didn't think I'd ever be writing Fanfiction again, especially after I basically burned all my old stories and account, said 'never again', and rode of into the sunset of the internet to do other things. **

**But here I am again, an unknown author returning to an old shame because damnit I LOVE me some Five Nights at Freddy's and the fandom for this game isn't stopping anytime soon. It also provides a chance to stretch my literary muscles again.**

**This is, yes, an OC story, but only because I feel the story of Mike Schmidt has been told many times, as we all know, and I often wonder at how this would fare as more action/horror if the protagonist was...more inclined to wander. So, here's my experiment and the first chapter. Not expecting high praise yet, if ever, but it's what I want to do. All hates for OC can be directed to the usual spot along with compliments, but most importantly criticisms. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The First Night, Pt 1.**

The first impression is important in any interview. Even though I'd been practically guaranteed the job, I still wanted to give the best front I could. The problem was not going overboard, of course, but that was pretty simple for this situation. It wasn't a day guard position, after all, and I'd likely have limited contact.

A few hours after classes saw me checking myself out in front of a closet mirror, eying over myself to be sure I was ready. The navy-blue ball-cap labeled SECURITY in bright yellow sat snugly on my red-brown hair, a color mix a result of a Halloween costume I decided to keep two years ago. My SECURITY wind-breaker, also navy blue with bright yellow lettering, still fit comfortably loose on my lean muscled torso, especially over the plain white Oxford shirt. Professional, I decided, but still comfortable, especially since the rest of me was a pair of blue denims and some steel-toes I'd gotten in the habit of wearing.

For a moment, I decide to practice my 'guard face' in the mirror. You know, that expression you see on all security guards annoyed with someone, like they're inches away from making you regret being annoying. Mine was pretty good, if a bit rusty. I'd made a few trouble-some teen "toughs" change their minds about being further with it once. Then I practiced it as I let my hand fall to the night stick, a tonfa, I carried on my belt. It's a good non-lethal weapon I was comfortable with. It wasn't like I'd need a gun for guarding a pizzeria.

Wasn't like a gun would have helped, anyways.

Rico and Jon were both out, tending to their own concerns of course and likely not wanting to be disturbed by a phone call. So I left them a note explaining everything before dipping into the petty cash pot for cab fare.

Eleven 'o'clock, on the dot, I was gently rapping at the closed up door to Freddy's, trying not to smile at the nostalgia of the front entrance's simple charm. Freddy's had been the subject of rumors and horror stories even when I was a kid, but somehow that'd made it all the more fun. I was brought out of my musings by the sight of someone striding up towards the door. Not walking, striding. It was a surprisingly severe looking woman in her mid-30s, dressed in conservative woman's business wear the shade of slate grey. She carried a briefcase, and everything from her prim and proper brown hair in a bun to her no nonsense attitude that made her already sharp cheek bones look more like edges told me this was NOT David Ross, happy helpful day shift manager. Lawyer, corporate most likely.

That put my teeth on edge, even as she opened the door and greeted me with the coldest, most distant handshake. Ms Gibbins, she said her name was. The accent was New England high society, I guessed, and her choice to treat me as a dumb thug and not a professional guard was grating, but I'd worked for worse. I couldn't RECALL who or what, but that's besides the point, and I wouldn't tell her that as I followed her with my backpack on one shoulder gripped by whitening left hand knuckles.

We spent the next twenty minutes in the manager's office going over my paperwork and all the legal things I'd expected. Security work anywhere carries a risk of injury and possible death, so I wasn't surprised at some of what I had to sign. The NDAs, Non-Disclosure Agreement, kinda still stuck in my craw since it's a way for companies to legally cover their asses against anything short of criminal felonies, and even then expect a hefty legal battle for telling the cops your bosses are hiding bodies. Stupid, yes, but civil court is civil court. But I signed anyways, figuring there wasn't any harm.

All the paperwork done, Ms Gibbins left the building without even a 'welcome to the company' or 'good night'. Not even a 'don't break anything', which surprised me. She'd been like that the whole time, colder than an Alaskan Crab and just as prickly. Which was a shame too. She wasn't ugly or plain, but any good looks she had were overwhelmed by the tightness of her jaw and the semi-permanent glare and cold looks she'd had the whole time. First time I could really describe someone as 'frigid' and it was accurate.

No, force the thoughts from your mind, Jeremy. You're in charge now. She's gone, and you must make your rounds.

That put me in a better mood than anything else would have, my eyes lighting up. I'd walked Ms Gibbins to the front of the building and locked her out, so it was as I turned that I took a final look at the place under decent lighting. We were hooked up to the city power grid, true enough, but at midnight the whole building shifted over to battery power stored during the day to save money. It was enough to run the freezers and security equipment until morning, I was told by Ms Personality, and deemed cost effective. True, it may affect my ability to use certain security measures, but it was part of my duties to not run out of power before 6am and we reconnect with the city grid.

That got a roll of my eyes as I walked off and wandered the gaming floor. Probably the real reason was to keep these off and not give the night guard a way to kill time. Amusedly I recognized the old ski-ball wall units and the spider wacking foot game that pre-dated DDR, the old MK cabinet in one corner, and the usual other games of chance and skill kids would play for tickets. There were newer arcade games as well, a couple I knew, but those weren't important. The games weren't important, the ball pit was not important, but worth noting on my way to my true destination. The stage...

Freddy's stage in the dining area, where he, Chica, and Bonnie would 'rock out' and play generic rock songs for the kids while they had parties or just enjoyed pizza on a weekend after a sports game. The dining area, where I'd eaten many a delicious, cheesy pizza with my mom and my friends and delighted in hearing Bonnie play a guitar solo of one form or another. It hadn't changed since I was 18. Part of me got a little warm glow in my chest at that, but it was coupled with a quiet sadness.

Time away had given me perspective. The wallpaper was faded, so was the carpet from the tens of thousands of feet that'd walked it over the years. The rows of folding tables were still the same, all pressed wood and aluminum frame-work with leggings, the sheets covering them maybe newer than I remembered, but the chairs were all uniform and just as black as I remembered. No, that was a lie. I could see the faux leather was fading as well, from years of sweaty backs and buttocks.

Even the stage, a simple mock up with useful props to give it some life, looked like a lot of it could maybe use a fresh coat of paint and not too soon.

In fact, as I continued my first walk about of the building, I was surprised to realize how Freddy's really was showing its age. I knew it'd opened in the mid-80s, before I was even born, but it was another thing to realize just how on its last legs Freddy Fazzbear's really was. Details that'd never really caught my attention when Jon and I had been regulars came into such sharp focus I was a little surprised with myself for never noticing before. In that instant, as I was passing a closed up Pirate's Cove and an 'Out of Order' sign, I was struck with the idea of trying to revitalize the place, get Rico and Jon in on the project of saving Freddy's.

I paused in my thoughts then, looking inside the curtained spot at Captain Foxy and his 'ship' coming into the cove. There was a fake beach, a ball pit that served as the ocean, the front half of his ship where he'd command his crew of kids to-

My heart sank. "Oh no. Not you." I heard myself. Foxy, the pirate captain fox of my childhood, swashbuckler badass who'd given me a 'gold coin' for my eleventh birthday, sat on a 'rock' with the wear and tear of years on him. When I was a kid, Foxy had been my favorite, but I'd not come in to see him after I'd turned...what was it, fifteen? The big red fox-like humanoid had been rough looking when I was younger, but I couldn't recall seeing him in such a state of disrepair. Hell's teeth, he had bits of himself missing that revealed the metal skeleton underneath. His jaw didn't look like it even fit right!

For a moment, I was tempted to walk in there, to walk the place of my childhood left to decay and...and...

I turned away, walking determinedly. No, Jeremy. That's the past. You can do this. Just walk right down the hall to the Security office and do your job. Right, not too hard.  
At the time, it'd been the third hardest thing to walk away from in my life. To acknowledge the things of my childhood would not be there for other children to experience. Hell's teeth, from the looks of things the whole Pizzeria would only be around another couple years. It seemed a shame. Maybe that petition wasn't so farfetched an idea.

I wish I'd stayed so ignorant.

The hallway from there to the back offices was a straight shot. From there beyond was a private room for parties, after which became the employee's only section. Break room with private fridge, small couch and table with chairs and a single old school, small box TV hung up in a corner. Off, of course. Supply closet, Manager's office, a couple lockers for employees to stash belongings in relative security, and finally my office.

"Well...shit." I muttered, stepping in to get a look at the place. I was underwhelmed, of course. Cheap linoleum tile like the hallway, a single swivel chair in front of a bank of monitors labeled 'for day use only' on an old 50s steel desk. The kind that you expect was the reason you 'duck and cover' when the bombs came. Desk fan, on and circulating muggy air, single overhead light...and a tablet. It was the newest thing in here, and a bit off putting until I picked it up.

Within a few minutes I had the thing figured out. Cameras were operating on a network accessible to this tablet, some wireless router hooked in the room somewhere I hadn't spotted. I brought up the app and tapped the mini-map set up for it. Not bad for Freddy's set up, I thought, thinking it unusual to have this kind of tech while they were trying to save costs.

I was brought out of the admiration and confusion by the striking of a battery powered clock on the wall, a big round deal that made a 'ding dong' as it struck twelve midnight. I heard systems go out all over the building, including every light but mine, as we switched over to battery power and my shift officially began.

And I decided to start it by making sure the doors were locked. No sense not being cautious.

**Author's notes: Set up is all done and golden. Next week (hopefully) we continue the foray of young Mr Titus' first night into his very own horror movie, and I hope it will prove more entertaining than these few pages I no doubt bored you all to tears with. But from here on out, the days will be short and the nights not short enough...**

… **Sounds like a terrible trailer line...ANYWAYS! Come back next time to see what happens when a 190 pound young man kicks a 400 pound animatronic in the chest. Spoilers: Not as much as he would hope.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The First Night, Part 2**

At least, I would have started my rounds of the building and all the doors if something else didn't catch my eye. The sight of it was so jarring and old fashioned that it was demanding not only to be noticed, but to be paid attention to. Right there, sticking up out of the drawer of my desk, was an audio cassette tape. At 20 years old, I'm old enough to recall cassette tapes, mostly because my mother had been really into making mix tapes and I managed to benefit from that. But I didn't think anyone still used or made them outside of record labels and aspiring musicians. And I'm pretty sure those don't have "I WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE" written on the label in red ink unless the artist had an egotistical problem.

So I stopped, interest roused and curiosity's thirst parching, to reach over to the tape and look for something to put it in. It took me a minute to locate the battery powered cassette recorder in the other desk drawer, most of that time taken up trying to unstick the damned thing so it'd open, before I was all set up to listen to the tape.

A couple minutes later though, I was grinning and hitting 'stop' on the control deck before hauling my ass out of the chair to walk the halls. Ye gods and little fishes, I thought to myself as my boots strode across the floor, do they really take me for an imbecile? The voice on the tape was a Mike something, supposedly a previous employee, trying to warn me about the animatronics and how they walked around at night because the pizzeria was too cheap, and what danger I was in, blah blah blah.

"Right, and I fart pink fluffy unicorns out my butt." I muttered to myself, both amused and a little annoyed at the transparent prank. I'm no stranger to hazing rituals or pranking the new guy, but this was just silly. I mean, come on really? This close to Halloween and the best the day shift kids come up with is 'Freddy and his friends might try to kill you'? So cliché, I thought to myself, passing Pirate's Cove on my way to the game room. It's like something from a B-grade horror movie, they couldn't possibly think-

Something moved just out of the corner of my left eye, causing me to turn on reflex and look to the curtain. Part of the cloth was swaying, as if disturbed by some passing presence, but I didn't see anything. I walked back, lifting aside the cloth with my night stick to poke inside with the flashlight I pulled off my belt. Nothing, just Foxy and his ship. I was about to turn back away when I realized something wasn't the same as before, so I looked again. Nothing seemed disturbed, I thought. Fake gold coins and jewels, same plastic 'wooden' chest holding treasures, the fake beach, the ball pit ocean, same ship, same Foxy...

Hadn't he been a bit further back in, though? Sitting on one of the rocks? Or had he always been on that other rock closer to the curtains?

I gave a shrug of 'whatever', letting the curtains fall back into place as I walked away again to the front entrance through the game room and past the prize counter. Just my imagination, I told myself, latching onto the idea of late night horror movies while in a...

...Surprisingly creepy Pizzeria, come to think of it. I'd never seen the place without any of the lights on, or this late at night when the only other lights not in my hand were from the parking lot out front. My left hand jiggled and checked the push door entrance's lock while I looked around, training my beam of light out and around the place with the suspicious eye of a cat in the bushes. Something seemed...off.

Shadows weren't cast properly, or just looked off in some way while the utter stillness of the building lent the place a feeling of abandonment I normally associate with old houses. I keep telling myself it's just my imagination combining with my normal association with light and liveliness of the building, but I can't help but feel...

I hear a noise and turn sharply, the beam of my flashlight cutting into the darkness of the dining area. At first nothing, I see no movement or hear any continuation of the noise I'd percieved earlier. A few steps closer though brings me into better view, and my light swings around to cover the whole room until...

I couldn't quite say if I cried out or cursed, but I made some kind of noise in my surprise to see Bonnie the Bunny walking down off the stage, coming from around the curtains and walking with all the mobility of Frankenstein's monster. Or that was my initial impression until I saw Bonnie turn abruptly and navigate the chairs and tables of the dining area with more alacrity than I gave him credit for, those big, expressive eyes locking on me.

My first instinct is to laugh, breaking the tension with a couple of chuckles that are a mix of amusement and annoyance as I regard the first disturbance of the night. So those jokers on the day shift were really gonna play this to the hilt, huh? Try and spook the new guy, get him to piss himself and run away on camera? Sorry, kids, gonna have to try harder than that. I'm shaking my head at the approaching Bonnie, who's walking calmly but pointedly towards me from fifty feet across the room. "Alright, cute joke. Now get outta the costume, it's not a toy, and get home." I said, smiling at the walking 'Bonnie' to show I was being a good sport about it. Kid must have had shaders or something in the mask, he's walking without trouble despite the flashlight in his face. He's still walking towards me, and the smile I'm wearing fades a bit. Thirty feet. "Look, I'll admit you gave me a start. But the joke's over, pal, you gotta go." Twenty feet, he's still walking, and I'm not smiling anymore. "I said the joke's over! Costume off and get the hell outta here!" I shout in my best authority voice. I've had enough of this crap, and I'm pulling my nightstick free from my belt to look menacing while I start walking towards him, glaring. I don't care how big he is, I'm gonna knock him on his ass and-

I felt the metaphorical hot wind come out of my proverbial sails a bit as I got a better look at Bonnie. And I could see it really was Bonnie the Bunny, the joints clearly that of a machine with the reflective metal skeleton under neath the fake fur and fiber-glass body. My steps falter a bit, my pace slowing, eyes taking in all the details at once, and my brain came to a decision a scant second just before the animatronic lunged at me, an inhuman screech issuing from its' mechanical throat with arms extended to grab me.

Self-defense classes and regular practice with my room mates kicked in without my conscious thoughts getting in the way, my body ducking and rolling over a dining table while my brain was still trying to come to grips with the present situation. I was being attacked by Bonnie-Fucking-Bunny and this was NOT some weird nightmare. I knew it wasn't a dream because I felt the impact of my boots hitting the thinly carpeted floor sending tiny jolts of discomfort through my feet and ankles, my eyes adjusting again to the sudden dimness of the pizzeria till my flashlight was trained on Bonnie again. In a dream I was sure I wouldn't have felt anything from my feet, my subconscious wasn't always so detail oriented about that kind of thing when it wanted to terrify me. I would have had better night vision so I could be sure to still be able to perceive the impossible threat I was facing.

Which meant that either my subconscious was working over time to keep this dream vivid, or my reality had just taken a sharp turn for the Twilight Zone. 

Bonnie was on the move again, trading the slow walk for a kind of quick jog that equated to running for 'his' aging servos, still a lot quicker than I would have credited him for, and he suddenly around the table and between me and the exit back to the lobby. He didn't slow, still holding out his arms as if to grab hold and squeeze me to death, and this time I didn't slow either. I broke out into a dashing sprint, right at the big rabbit, and was lunging through the air with both my hands grabbing the dining table to use as a fulcrum, swinging both my mechanic's work boots up to impact with Bonnie's chest. At five-ten and near two hundred pounds, my mass combined with current momentum translates to considerable force being focused into the small area of my feet into the broader area of my opponent, and I'd dropped guys twice my size doing something similar.

What I hadn't counted was that Bonnie's mass was just that much more than mine and plus some. The material of the costume wasn't fiber-glass covered in fake felt, as I'd suspected. It was something closer to hardened plastics not unlike that found in some motorcycle gear, which made sense since kids could be pretty rough and it would cost less to replace in the long run. The metal framework skeleton inside was also a factor, being much denser and heavier than any human of comparable size, not to mention all the connecting pieces and "ligaments" with in. This gave his momentum significantly more force than I had.

So instead of knocking Bonnie on his fuzzy purple ass, he went back a couple staggering while I was the one knocked onto my back a few feet from where I'd hit him in the air, my breath leaving my body in a grunting exhalation as my body quickly turned it into a roll, once again without my brain's interference and acting on well-drilled instinct.

I couldn't afford to spend any kind of time catching my breath, the stunning blow I'd dealt Bonnie wouldn't last very long if at all, so once again I was vaulting over the table through the relative darkness, flashlight forgotten in my tumbling roll and my nightstick with it. Bonnie was already about-facing and pursuing me, so I poured on the speed in my mad dash to get to safety, my brain latching onto the location of my office at the back of the building with its nice, secure looking steel doors and thick plastic windows. I made it out of the dining area, through the arcade and past the prize counter, and was coming up on Pirate's Cove when I finally shot a glance back behind me and-

Holy shit, Bonnie was building up some speed! He was clear of the lobby and halfway through the arcade's only clear walkway when I'd chanced the look, and as I turned my head around again to make the turn into the 'authorized only' hall way I could almost hear his pounding animatronic feet catching up. I had a straight shot down the hallway, past doors and posted up kids' drawings with my boots crashing down noisily onto the linoleum. The light of my office fell out of the doorway on my left, and it was a near thing of a sharp turn that might have twisted my ankle if I'd been unlucky enough, but I made it inside to slam my hand on the big red button marked 'door'. The comforting sound of a strong door sliding shut and locking down was suddenly replaced by the more worrying sound of what had to be the better part of maybe six hundred pounds of Bonnie colliding with the door and coming to a dead halt, the thudding of body followed by the thudding of his fists into the steel enough to make me stand up and back away from it, eying it warily as Bonnie hit it again and again.

It didn't take long for him to give up, though, and even less time for me to scoop up the tablet from my desk and open the camera app to check that hallway. He was walking away, lumbering along with nary a sign of disappointment I could read in his body-language. Relief didn't get a chance to settle in my mind, my fingers dashing across the camera icons to bring up the various views of the restaurant. The other hallway outside my second door, clear. Further up that way, also clear. Bathroom doors, clear...Wait, I'd missed one. Where was the...

My finger tapped the icon labeled 'Kitchen' and it came up completely blank, a notion that made me more than a little concerned, but the icon for the camera's audio was still green and I could hear the refrigerators for the food humming softly. It would have to do. Arcade. Supply room. Dining Area...Yup, there was Bonnie, walking away and to the left...and there was a large, wide yellow chicken animatronic that I recognized all too well. Chica. "Oh shit..." I whispered as I saw her stop walking and turn her head, eying the camera as it moved to track her movements, her dead mechanical eyes looking back at my camera's single digital lens.

A bit unnerved by the chicken's stare, I swapped camera views again. Backstage. There was Freddy, in all his unactivated glory. I let out a deep breath of relief as I sagged into the chair and looked at the power meter. My heart skipped a beat. 84%.

It was barely 12:30am.

My chair rolled with a kick from my boot-clad feet to my left-hand door and I hit the door button to deactivate the lock, the door sliding open smoothly and the power use gauge lost one of the little green bars. Deactivating the camera app on the tablet brought the power use of the building's stored power back to the single background power levels needed to keep the refrigerator running.

I still can't relax, though, my eyes shifting back and forth to the doors on both sides of my desk, trying to pierce the darkness of the hallways beyond. I check the windows to each side, but to no avail as the dim light of my office is only enough to illuminate my single room. I can see the light switches beneath the round red door buttons, but I'm hesitant to use them as well. If I do, they use power. If I run out of power, what happens to my ability to use the doors. I need questions answered.

Memory flickers back to barely a half an hour ago when I'd started to work tonight, and the portable tape recorder/player someone had left out. Sure enough, it's still there and I hit rewind on the thing before pushing play again, and this time I really listen to what it has to say...

It's 1:42 am, I'm still in the Security office with my ass in the office chair, my eyes darting back and forth between the doors while my ears strain for every little sound. I've stopped three more attempts to enter the office, the last two fairly easy to foil while the first one had come while I was distracted.

Chica had come into the office while I had still been mulling over what I'd heard on the tape, and I'd only escaped from being grabbed because Chica had gotten a face full of office chair mid-step, knocking 'her' back into the hallway long enough for me to slam the door shut so I could wait till she left. Through luck or a minor act of some deity the chair wasn't broken, so I'd recovered it to sit in once more.

The tape had been made by someone named Mike Schmidt, a previous night watchman who had apparently survived this ordeal. He'd explained that for some reason he himself couldn't explain, the animatronics were left to roam around in free-roaming to keep their mechanisms from seizing up after years of use. That made no sense to either of us apparently, since I would think further wear and tear would continue their steady decline, but it was how things were so he'd had to deal with it. That in itself wasn't too terrifying, but the animatronics had been programmed for who knew what reason to identify anyone inside the pizzeria between 12am and 6am to be perceived as non-costumed endoskeletons and would be shoved inside any spare Freddy coverings. And subsequently be crushed by the internal bracings and workings of the suits. The guy who'd been before HIM had been unlucky enough to run out of power and caught by Freddy himself, and this was the kicker as it answered my question about the doors.

The doors were held shut with powerful electronic magnets, preventing their opening, and therefore were a massive draw on the building's power supply. "Use them only when you have to. And keep an eye on Foxy, he can be sneaky if you're not careful. And fast. Faster than the others except for maybe Freddy, who is way too damn sneaky for something his size. Alright, that's everything I can think of, the rest you'll figure out since they don't have a consistent pattern. Watch your back, conserve your power, and seriously consider a new job in the morning..."

Not bad advice, I thought, bringing up the tablet to skim through the cameras again. Chica was missing, but I could hear noises from the Kitchen. She was messing with pans and the like, but I didn't care. Mike warned me about that in the tape too, said she made pizzas for the next day sometimes. I'd briefly entertained the idea of chasing her out of there before reminding myself Bonnie'd nearly cleaned my clock. Best to leave her there so she could entertain herself.

Bonnie was in the supply room again, looking at my camera and frankly creeping me the hell out. "Be curious elsewhere, damnit, you're blocking the whole view." I grumbled softly, flicking to another view. Backstage, Freddy was still there, and hadn't moved once all night. Fine by me. Pirate's Cove.

I just barely managed to not shiver as I saw my formerly favorite Foxy leaning out of the curtains, his slightly unhinged jaw hanging askew in a weird grin. He'd been like that for twenty minutes. I didn't think he was waiting for anything, I didn't get that vibe from his stance, but I was still hanging out near the left-hand door control just in case he tried to pull a fast one. I glanced at a clock. 2am.

I felt my back getting sore from the tension building in my shoulder blades. I checked my tablet. 68%. I had to be better about conserving power...

I was getting close to falling asleep now, the constant awareness I was projecting an exhausting demand on my brain and my body to be ready for anything at any moment, but I couldn't afford to relax. Freddy and Foxy had not made any move all night, though Bonnie and Chica had been quite inclined to come and try to say hello every now and again. I glanced at the clock again and just barely kept from crying out in joy. 5:54am. A check of my tablet showed I'd just barely done it, 11% power.

I let out a deep breath of joyful relief as I let myself sag in the chair, dropping the tablet onto the desk with a small smile on my face. I'd made it. Just a couple more minutes and I'd be outta here.

I spent some of the remaining time straightening up my office, collecting the few things I'd brought and sticking them back into my backpack and tugging my security jacket back on, secure in the closeness to the end of my shift and believing that the remaining-let's see the clock-four minutes would be spent by the four robot animals going back to their positions. That I had some breathing space finally.

So when I reached for my hat on the hook just to the right of my left-hand door below the window and I reached for the light switch out of a quickly forming habit, I was completely blindsided by Bonnie as he came screeching and grabbing through the doorway. I screamed back in surprise, backpedaling away before I was caught off-balance by the edge of my desk and I crashed to the floor, knocking the chair on my left shoulder on the way down and sending it clattering to the floor. I landed awkwardly, groaning in a stunned kind of pain on my back, all the while Bonnie came inexorably forward, bending forward so he could reach out and grab me. 

I shook off the daze and hunched myself up, bringing my knees to my chest and lashing out with both feet to try and knock back the big robot rabbit, but all I managed to do was hold him at bay for a bit, my teeth bared in a growl as my arms reached out and held my body in position on the ground. Bonnie pushed harder, making my muscles protest in dull pain in the strain to push him away, and I was sorely tempted to try and kick out his ankles when my growling turned into a sharp cry of surprised pain.

Bonnie was grabbing my around my calf with his big hand, and it was a lucky thing he was only squeezing hard enough to bruise everything instead of snapping my shin. My cry of pain turned into one of violent protest as I lashed out with my other boot, kicking at his arm, his hand, the back of his legs, doing nothing even close to substantial damage.

I called him names, shouted curses and threats at Bonnie's back as he slowly dragged me out of the office and down the hall, all the while my heart pounded in fear at my impending fate. I was screwed, without options against my inhuman attacker. He was dragging me away, to shove me into a suit to die a painful crushing death, and for all my training and ability there wasn't a damned thing I could do!

For a couple brief seconds, I wondered if I remembered to put away the cassette tape and the player. I hope the next guy after me pays better attention...

The pressure around my leg was gone so suddenly it registered as a new kind of pain to have blood flowing again, but it didn't stop me from scrambling backwards away from bonnie, glaring a challenge at the robot. It was wasted. Bonnie wasn't looking at me. Didn't even acknowledge my presence. He just kept right on walking, as if nothing mattered.

"What the fuck?" I breathed, catching my breath and pulling my feet underneath me to stand, ignoring the ache in my right leg as I put my weight on it. Then I was fishing my cell phone out of my pocket to look at the time, and I about cried right then. My cries turned into a triumphant laugh.

"Six'o'clock!" I shouted in the technically empty Pizzeria. "And all's well!"

**Author's Notes: Whew, there's the end of Jeremy's first night. This one's a bit longer, obviously, but I hope you guys enjoyed the hell out of my protagonist's first foray into what will be an interesting story to a future therapist.**

**It's a bit later than originally hoped, and I'm sorry to anyone that was waiting for it. But here's hoping I can get the next few chapters out more timely and can entertain you folks with my collection of keystrokes. Happy Halloween (belatedly) and please leave a review!**

**Tune in next time for Jeremy's attempt to not sound crazy to his friends, and for more heart-pounding nights at Freddy's as he comes to a chilling conclusion...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Second Day (What the hell am I doing?)**

I wasn't weeping with relief at my narrow survival of an insanely cheap and poorly written horror movie that had been my night, but I wasn't exactly jumping and dancing for joy either. Oh, sure, I was laughing to myself quietly as I walked through the pizzeria except that didn't count. Anyone coming down from an adrenaline rush that's anywhere close to what had been my encounter with Bonnie at the end there would need to do SOMETHING with the nervous energy I had left over, and I didn't feel like running out the front door and screaming my head off. For one, that would attract attention this early in the morning, a grown man running and screaming everyone awake would draw people in police uniforms with concerns and questions and probably take me to a hospital to make sure I wasn't on some seriously wild drugs or utterly piss faced. Then, once they found out I was sober as a nun I'd be committed somewhere on the grounds of mental illness and a public threat because no one would believe I'd just spent six hours avoiding death at the hands of my childhood pizzeria's animatronics.

Plus, that'd violate the non-disclosure agreement I'd signed, and I was pretty sure Fazzbear's lawyer lady would love to sue me for everything I was worth, including my kidneys.

Which, I realized, posed another issue. Again, I couldn't tell anyone about this because of those same legal forms I'd signed. Even if the police believed me, or a news network, I'd still have to deal with the impending lawsuit. Whistle blower laws be damned, this was America and corporate lawyers could wiggle their clients out of anything they damned well pleased. Assuming they didn't just sue me for divulging corporate secrets instead. And I could at best afford a pro-bono lawyer, and those guys have good intentions but are not always a sure bet.

As I entered the dining area, caution in my footsteps even as the well lit room showed no walking robots of squicky death, my second problem revealed itself in my memory. I'd also signed an agreement to at least one week of employment during which I couldn't quit and they couldn't fire me while on probationary pay. Violating that wouldn't result in a lawsuit, but that sort of thing could follow a guy the rest of his life. Not exactly a glowing recommendation for when you're looking for work. It'd be like quitting your job without a two weeks notice. Employer's don't always care WHY you left without warning at your last job, just that you did and made you potentially unreliable.

Meaning I was stuck at this for four more days. Hell's Teeth, this wasn't good. 

After collecting my lost flashlight and nightstick, I left the restaurant just as the day manager was arriving to open up and get the place ready for business. I didn't say anything to Mr Ross even as he greeted me, just shot him a cold look before walking past him towards the nearest bus stop. I don't think I could have stopped myself from killing him if I hadn't, which would be a shame. Mr Ross was about my height but at least twenty years older than me with a belly and fading blonde hair. From the disappointed look on his face as I left, and from what I'd parsed from our conversations on the phone, David Ross is one of those guys that'd be your cool uncle when you're a kid. You know, the one that sneaked you treats or spare cash and would drive you to the movies and sneak you into the R rated action one or horror? I had an uncle like that, let me try out a beer when I was 13 and grinned as I made a face.

I'll have to apologize to him later, I told myself as I calmed down some more and made it to the bus stop and checked my cell's clock. Ten minutes before the 6:14 bus. Add on another couple minutes, city buses never run according to your clock, fifteen minute ride to home, couple minutes up the stairs to the apartment...I could sneak in a good hour or so of sleep before worrying about class. Good, I'd need it...

But to my complete utter lack of surprise, I wasn't going to be getting that sleep right away. Rico had gotten up early to, according to him, work on one of his commissioned pieces for some web show's title card and somebody's character artwork for an independent game. Which he was doing, but I saw that as soon as I walked in, he lost all interest in his work and turned to grin at me, the question already on his lips. It died, though, when he saw my exhausted eyes and the signs of poorly covered dishevelment.

"Shit, Titus. They'd have invented 'rough night' to describe how you look. What the hell?" Rico asked, confusion evident in his voice. "Was there a break in and you spent hours talking to the cops?"

That was Rico for you. No 'are you okay' or 'did you get hurt' before the 'why' of what happened. The results were dealt with second. He could clearly see I hadn't been patched up or carried myself like I was in pain anywhere, so any injuries were probably minimal. I swear, he's an uncannily spooky guy, probably should have gone to the academy and been a cop.

Before I could answer, though, Jon chose that moment to come in and show what HIS excuse to be waiting for me that morning was. His was actually plausible too, wearing his running outfit and signs that he'd been sweating not long ago, but I knew he was just like me and viewed being up at 6am without an impending hang over as stupidly early. He was rubbing a towel over his hair, like he'd just shoved his head into the shower, and was giving me a similar look to Rico's, curious concern marking his blunt features. He'd clearly heard Rico, and was holding off his own questions.

I briefly entertained the idea of making something up that was at the very least more believable than "I was almost killed by a seven foot humanoid rabbit death machine", but disregarded the idea almost immediately. Rico and Jon would buy a fake story once, maybe twice, but they'd catch on the second time.

So I collapsed onto the couch and began to tell my story, starting with the frigid lawyer woman and my legal obligations. Rico was frowning softly as he listened, clearly not seeing the problem with just quitting, but he kept his questions to himself. I talked about the place, how it'd changed, how different it was so late at night than we remembered. The animatronics and their conditions-Jon actually tut tutted when he heard Foxy was still out-drew mostly thoughtful looks, until I told them about the rest of my night.

I could tell right away after I told them about my first encounter that they were thinking the same thing I had. Some big guy in a extra heavy costume, no big deal. Jon looked like he was waiting for me to laugh and say something like "nah, I'm joshing you, he's in the lockup right now". Rico looked even more skeptical.

"Guys, I'm not kidding. Bonnie the fucking Bunny chased me all the way to my office. It wasn't somebody's idea of a prank, it was the real deal, and that..._thing_ wanted to kill me!" I said, getting frustrated as I looked at my close friends, my compadres, and saw only bemused disbelief mixed with concern. "Jer, I know that's probably what it looked like, man, but be reasonable! How do you know it wasn't some particularly strong guy?" Jon asked, folding his arms across his chest as he studied me.

"Because when I planted both my boots in a running jump kick, something that SHOULD even put big guys on their backs or grasping their ribs, he barely rocked back a foot? Cause I could see the joints in the robot? He ran faster than someone in a suit would be able to do? Guys, I AM being reasonable, I know what I saw."

"Saw in the dark, while pumped on adrenaline, after hearing some vato's idea of a joke on a tape." Rico said, scoffing a little bit from the chair, but he wasn't grinning at me, which may or may not be a good sign. I groaned and rubbed at my head, and proceeded to give the highlights of the next five-and-a-half hours before the shift ended. The one that capped off the story, though, got them to really pay attention, and looking back I couldn't blame them. We all have our brushes with death everyday, sometimes without even realizing it, and between the three of us we've probably caused the Reaper some headaches. Probably not as many as Sam Vimes, but Sir Samuel Vimes the Duke of Ankh is a fucking badass, he's allowed to do that. Before that morning, the closest I'd gotten was a car wreck, and we had pretty active lifestyles. Pain and adrenaline aren't strangers.

But even retelling that encounter with the big Bunny, it brought me right back to that place. That feeling of helplessness, of being without any options at the time, being dragged away like a doll to be crushed to death...

My hands were shaking. I looked at them, confused. Why was I shaking? Why was I still so scared, I didn't understand? I got away, didn't I? It was strange, the event felt so far away but at the same time...

I shook my head roughly, set my jaw, and looked up at them. I was surprised to see them both looking at me for the first time like they might believe me. Or at the very least they knew I believed it had happened. Hope built in me, but it died. How could they help me?

I got my answer from Jon, without even asking him. "I think we should get a chance to see this ourselves..." He said, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. And I didn't want to. Sleep took me in bone deep weariness and relief as I slumped backwards onto the couch, and I didn't fight it.

****

**Author's notes: The chapter in which...basically nothing interesting happened! But this is important, because it sets up a couple things. First, why would he go back after the second night? Answer: Lawyers! Why doesn't he call the cops? Who would believe him, and also lawyers again!But now that this is out of the way, we can move onto night 2, where our intrepid...protagonists, I couldn't call them heroes with a straight face. Our protagonists fully face how terrible things can be... Arrrr!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Second Night, Pt. 1 (I Warned Ye!)**

There's something to be said for having friends. There's something even more to be said about having friends willing to kick you in the ass if it'll do you a world of good. But if you ever have a friend that not only lets you sleep through your classes after a hard night's work, but told your professors you were sick, picked up your assignments, and when you called to complain to them about being left to sleep they tell you to "get your head out of your ass, eat something, and then go back to sleep" before hanging up on you... There aren't really any words that need to BE said about having those kinds of friends. Well, maybe 'assholes' could be tossed in, those same friends will laugh at you while you're hung over as they're cooking eggs.

That was the state I found myself in when I woke up somewhere around noon, slumped over on the couch with my boots still on and a spare blanket tossed on me. I might have been tucked in, but I couldn't tell since I shift in my sleep so much. To say I was annoyed was kind of an understatement, I was down right pissed off. My passing from 'fully asleep' to 'bright and alert' was only helped along by a fresh pot of coffee that had been left prepared when I woke up, a fact I was only privy to because of Rico's note on the kitchen counter. That alone saved them from imminent death, I told myself as I sipped at the hot black brew and sat back on our couch, catching up on the news. More shit in the Gaza Strip, no surprise. That'll keep up till there isn't anyone left anywhere to give a fuck anymore.

I pulled myself out of my cynical worldview on geo-politics to remind my brain that I wasn't supposed to be going through my morning routine, I should be getting ready for classes. A note from Jon, though, stopped that cold when I saw it where he'd left it on the coffee table. How had I missed that? He was telling me not to worry, that he would collect my assignments. Which is when the aforementioned phone call happened and I was left staring at my phone in disbelief. That arrogant, self-righteous bastard, who was he to tell me what to do and how to live my life? Who was he to suggest I'm being an ass and tell me to start eating a hot meal for the first time in fifteen hours? To suggest I drag my ass over to the bed and-

You know those moments you realize you've been talking to yourself, rather loudly, voicing your thoughts? I had one right there, and it made me stop and take stock of things.

I ended up making tomato soup, just to ease anyone's burning curiosity.

Eleven hours and fifteen minutes later, we were in Rico's borrowed car and sitting outside the Pizzeria, looking out at it from our seats in the car. It looked mostly deserted save for the one other car outside and the dim outline of a light from inside, probably Mr Ross or someone asked to hold the fort until I showed up. We'd gotten there about five minutes ago, but we still hadn't gotten out of the car, Jon wanting a chance to catch up and get some more information. In that moment he reminded me of his dad, when his dad had still been in the Army. Good man, if a bit severe. Jon had that same kind of intensity sometimes, but he wasn't as bitter as his father.

I repeated some of what I'd said earlier, but in more detail. The layout of the building and the employee area, how to reach the kitchen, where all the doors are, stuff like that. Calling it a 'briefing' would have implied some kind of plan in mind for the evening, but there wasn't one. I had tried, with no success, to convince them they shouldn't come with me, that it was more dangerous than they believed. I really shouldn't have tried that, they were both pretty tough and could handle themselves pretty well, which lent them all kinds of confidence that was not the same as arrogance since they knew they could die. And they were my friends, and they wanted to help me, and they wanted to prove that the animatronics didn't try to kill me, that it was just some assholes getting their jollies by terrifying people with potentially dangerous pranks.

Now I know how the guys in all those Jason movies feel. The ones with the big tough guy bully friends calling out Jason before he guts them. I love my friends, but damn it why didn't they believe me when I told them it'd been dangerous? They'd seen all the same movies!

Of course, Rico had pointed out that I was going back in there, even though I believed there were demonic children's characters inside. Who was dumber? They coming along or me going alone?

Have I mentioned my friend Rico's an asshole?

Finally, realizing that the three of us were putting it off when Jon had asked me the same question three times about my office, I sighed and opened the back door of the little four door sedan, getting up to walk out into the chill Detroit night air. Jon and Rico would wait for me to give them a call before coming in, not wanting whoever was inside to get a look at their faces, and so hunkered down in the front seats while I marched right on up to the front door, raising a hand to knock at the glass.

Right before I could, a face appeared in the gloom and I fought the urge to jump back in surprise. It must have showed I'd almost done so, because the face took on a shade of amusement to it. The lock clicked, and the door opened to reveal the person more fully. And I got to meet the either the Final Girl of my own personal horror film, or that promiscuous best friend of the final girl that's offed second. I never got that, to be honest, what was wrong with liking sex? Movie logic is weird.

Oh, right, the girl. My brain kicked back on the right track and reminded me I should smile apologetically at her for maybe staring, whilst taking in details. About five five, my age or close enough, short cut blonde hair with a mix of red dyed in I didn't know the name of, with black rimmed stylish eye glasses framing pretty brown eyes...  
Jeremy, introduce yourself you creep, you're staring again at her soft, lovely- oh for fuck's sake, Jeremy! Say hello!

She beat me to it, her smile turning knowing and a little devilish that wasn't helped by dark red lip gloss. "I am what's usually called a 'female', girl, or a woman, if you're not sure what you're looking at, mister..." She drew out the last r, making it a question, and I had to smack myself in the head mentally while physically I was reaching out a hand to her to shake. She took mine and squeezed back with a good amount of strength in the grip. Firm, calloused hands.

"Jeremy Titus. Sorry, I was expecting..." I really wasn't sure who I was expecting, but she made her own conclusion and gestured for me to follow her in as she rolled her eyes and made a groan. "We call her a lot of different things, but I like 'the trout' personally. You're the new night guard?"

Now that I'd heard some more from her, and that I was able to concentrate again as I walked in behind her, I placed the voice and where I'd heard it before. "Yes I am, Rachael."  
The use of her given name made her pause and turn, tilting her head to regard me cautiously, and my smile was a little smug as I looked back at her. Our outfits were pretty distinct contrasts, I had my security garb on with belt and cell phone. Still no gun, Rico and Jon had managed to talk me out of it to prevent any accidents. She, on the other hand, wore street clothes instead of any kind of uniform, blue jeans that hugged her legs and hips with a baby blue t-shirt inside a snug looking brown leather jacket. An honest to God bombardier. Girl had taste.

I continued to smile, even as I walked in past her. "You answered the phone yesterday and handed me off to Mr Ross." I said casually, and that got a smile from her as well, wiping away the suspicion and giving me a bit of satisfaction as gentle guilt entered the expression. "Sorry, I-" I waved it off, looking back at her and grinning in understanding. "Nah, I get it. Probably get your share of weirdos here, but I'm not one of them. Too busy-"

She cut me off with another apology. "I'm sorry, I'd stay and talk but I'm only here to make sure you got in alright." She tossed me the keys and snatched up a back pack I hadn't seen, turning to walk out. I was about to follow her, but something told me to just call out after her with a "drive safe" as she hurried out to her car. I made the pretense of locking up behind her, but as her car pulled out of the shopping center's parking lot, Rico and Jon were already getting out of the car and grabbing their stuff.

I'll say this for my friends. They might be well-meaning and stubborn, but they also understood the idea of not taking too many chances. Jon was packing a crow bar, a nice tool for getting across the idea to someone's body he's punishing them for being a fucking moron, and Rico had decided to go the traditional route of a wooden Louisville Slugger, ala Al Capone for getting his point across. Nicely legal things to just be carrying around with reasonable explanations for them if any cops came by. True, they could be nasty weapons, but that wasn't their intended use here, officer! There's supposed to be a big wooden crate arriving soon with a new animatronic, or so I was told, and Jon's here to help! Rico? Oh he came to help too, and he thought afterward he'd go hit the batting cages to blow of some steam about his ex! I'm the night guard, here's my card.

Yeah, I know, no cop worth his salt would believe it, but it'd be enough smoke and mirrors to at least distract the issue and try to change the topic. Not something we could do if, say, Jon and Rico had come with shotguns.

Their first couple minutes inside the place were spent looking around at everything they could with flash lights, their faces both nostalgic and suspicious. Well, Rico was looking suspicious, Jon looked like he wanted to tease me about the girl I'd made run away. He held it in, of course, but he'd get me later. He always did. Aside from that, he was giving the place a good eying over. I gave them a quick tour, retreading old ground and exploring new territory, before we went into the back behind the curtains...and we found my tormentors.

There we sat. And there we waited for midnight. It wasn't a companionable silence, truth be told, with Jon and Rico barely giving the bots any real minding aside from the occasional stroll through memory lane with a story or two, but I didn't share in the mood. They still didn't believe me, I knew it, and part of me resented that while another part was just glad they were here. That I wouldn't be alone. And that I'd find out, for good or ill, if maybe, juuust maybe, I'd just had a mental breakdown last night and needed help of a different nature.

The clock struck twelve, we all tensed...  
And nothing happened.

The nothing continued to happen, I saw, for five minutes. Bonnie, Chica, and Freddy, stood still as statues and showed no sign of stirring to life. I felt my cheeks flush as Jon turned to look at me. I didn't look back, I glared at the robots. "Well?" I said, glaring at the machines with utter disgust and hate. "Come on! Don't just stand there!" The guys got up just after I started to, my voice rising in irritation.

"I'm right here, damn you! Wake up!" My hand was a blur of motion, pulling the tonfa from my belt and putting it into a momentum building spin before I lashed out at Freddy's stupid grinning face. I never landed the hit, Jon and Rico were there to grab me and drag me away. I'm strong, but Jon's got me beat by a couple dozen pounds and he had Rico there to manage me as well. Probably didn't help me that my struggles were more out of frustration than actual intent of escape, so they had little trouble taking me out into the dining room, where Rico backhanded me right in my open, raging mouth.

The blow stunned me out of my well-placed fury and dazed me for half a second, and Jon let me go to slump down and sit. "You see, Jer?" Rico's latino accented voice drifted to my ears, and it made me look up at him from where I was sitting, catching my breath. I must have looked pretty bad, because he was looking at me with all the sympathy and worry in the world. "You had some jokers playing a trick on you last night. They aren't alive." "But..." I started to say, my voice straining. It hadn't been guys in suits, I knew it, right? Hell, was I sure it had even happened and I just hadn't been slipped something in the coffee machine in the break room to make me trip out for five hours?

I looked up to Jon, hoping to see support there, but... he wasn't looking at me. He was looking back to the curtains and the back stage steps they'd just dragged me down. And his face was one of utter disbelief.

My face must have reflected my own new confusion, because Rico looked at Jon too and shared my thoughts. But we didn't get to ask because we heard the whirring of servos and the heavy step of felt covered plastic coating machinery. We all stared.

Bonnie the Bunny, all seven or eight feet of him, was walking down the steps. Right towards us.

I'd been right. It was all real. "Fuck me..."

**Author's Notes**: **_Hello again, all. Sorry for the wait, but you all know how the holidays can get, especially as the end of the year sometimes means you're double-timing it at work. I know, more build up, and with not a lot of pay off, but this is really more exercise while putting my own spin on a favorite game at this point, and I like doing this. Review, criticize, call me a bastard or something, but feel free to leave me a comment. _**

_**Next time, we start the ride all over again and Everyone's favorite pirate finally puts in his first real appearance. Take care!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5: The Second Night, Pt. 2 (No wee bunny...)**

Three college boys walk into a pizzeria. That should be the start of a weird kind of joke or an anecdote being told among laughing friends. Instead the next sentence will basically read as "they were nearly killed by a giant bunny" and there will be no irony or humor. Well, dark humor, maybe. Gallows humor.

I don't know if I'd said it, or if it'd been Jon. We were all stunned for the second or two it took Bonnie to ponderously take those steps, so I couldn't even be sure if someone had even said the two words or if it had in my own head. But the words, spoken after a moment of bewildered silence save for the bunny's footsteps, seemed to act as a trigger for what happened next. Bonnie's foot hit the ground, leaving the last step, and he lunged, once again releasing that terrible, howling screeching noise from his voice box.

It galvanized us. In a heartbeat, three friends reacted to the action with the instinct you'd have expected out of an army fire-team, but not nearly as smooth. Jon, the largest of us, met the charge with a lowered shoulder as he threw his 200 plus pounds into Bonnie's side. Bonnie had targeted Rico as the first of us he'd seen, and it gave Jon the angle he needed to bounce the big bastard aside while he was mid-step. Going from zero to sprint in less than three steps, Jon hit him like a truck. The result was a marked difference from my double-kick, literally knocking Bonnie so off balance his mechanical servos couldn't compensate and the big bunny hit the ground in a sprawl.

In the same instant Jon had reacted, Rico was already on the move. He'd recognized the danger coming for him and reacted more defensively, throwing his body aside in a roll across the nearest long table and landing neatly on his feet, the latino moving with the grace of a hunting cat. He brought the bat up with both hands into a guard position, like he was wielding a broad sword instead of a bat, and watched as Bonnie, almost ponderously, collided with the ground. He acted with the instinct of someone raised with the streets, rushing with his voice uttering a word in espanol that I knew his grandmother would have tanned his hide for as he went for a quick kill swinging his bat down at his attacker's head with a single precise swing.

I myself hadn't been quite so action movie cool, busy scrambling up off my ass to throw myself into the fight, but my second and a half delay gave me the time I needed to see Bonnie wasn't alone. Chica, big and wide with her now altogether too creepy smiling beak, was coming down next, midway down the short stairway and her eyes locking onto Jon while he was otherwise busy knocking Bonnie on his ass. When Rico hit Bonnie in the head with a resounding thwack, I was crying out a wordless warning to my friends just as my hand reached out to grab one of the chairs. They're the cheap metal and cushion jobs, aluminum or something, barely ten or fifteen pounds if I had to make a guess at their weight, hardly a comparable impact to a standing target roughly half a ton in mechanics and hardened plastic.

A standing target.

Jon heard my warning cry and didn't look, he just ducked aside and went to join Rico in pummeling Bonnie, while I was dropping my nightstick, taking the chair with both hands, and sent it hurtling towards Chica. I don't think she'd ever had that done to her two nights in a row, because it hit her in the face without even the slightest hint of a defensive reaction, knocking her off her single foot on the steps to crash down into the stairs and none too gracefully fell into a small sliding heap until she hit the ground and I was recovering my tonfa.

Rico was about going to town on Bonnie's head, and a human opponent inside that suit would have either been too dazed or completely out of it. Rico would have won the fight right there. But Bonnie reached up and caught the bat on the third or fourth swing, I hadn't counted, and damn near yanked it out of Rico's hands with his left hand as he was pushing his purple butt slowly back up on his feet. It almost yanked Rico plain off his feet, but the latino released the weapon at the last possible moment to instead lash his body into a spinning side kick with left boot to catch Bonnie where the floating ribs would be on a human. At that same moment Jon was coming into the fray as well and bringing the green painted steel crowbar into a swing at Bonnie's hip with the blunt side of the hooked end.

I'll be damned if what I saw happen just as I was hopping the table to join Rico didn't actually happen. Bonnie, far too neatly for my comfort, turned as he was going from crouching to kneeling to, I fucking kid you not, use the thin end of Rico's bat to freaking _parry_ Jon's crowbar, batting aside the swinging attack while it took Rico's kick on its forearm and absorbed the blow before pushing Rico's foot back and almost putting the bronze skinned fighter on his own ass. Jon and Rico were quick to recover, but it gave Bonnie the time it needed to stand up completely, dropping Rico's bat with a wooden clatter while it regarded the opponents arrayed against it.

Three on one, I'll bet a lot on us taking out one of these bozos, simply by way of overwhelming our opponent. Jon had backed up out of reach of the rabbit, as had Rico, both of them had themselves in loose, ready postures as I stepped up with the tonfa in hand, the weapon spun to a resting position across my forearm. Rico and I could distract him and Jon would hit him again but this time with the sharp end of that tool and bust a knee, leaving us to bust him apart at damn near our leisure. But I'd forgotten about Chica and it nearly paid in Jon's life as she rose from the ground and wrapped her arms around his torso, locking his arms in place with the natural strength of a man built machine. Jon cried out, more in shock than pain as his arms became useless in his own defense, the chicken starting to lift him from the ground. Bonnie reacted with faster reflexes than Rico and I could have to the sudden change in of the fight's dynamic, rushing again with the ponderous, deceptive slowness of an iceberg towards us. We only got out of the way in time with more luck than skill, both of us diving and rushing around the big bunny and avoiding his grasping hands by what felt like THOUSANDTHS of an inch.

Two on three maybe doable, we were all thinking at that moment, or atleast I was. Jon hadn't let panic take his faculties away from him, swinging his forearms to toss the crowbar at Rico, who deftly caught it with nimble fingers over my head and spun it in his hands like a baton before the two of us rushed Chica like living furies, defiantly shouting our challenge to the animatronic. Chica didn't seem to notice us, just turning to carry Jon away to walk around us and the tables. We could sense Bonnie moving behind us, turning to chase and grab one of us, so we only had the one chance at this. Rico reached her first, quick as a cat and struck home with the crowbar, angling the strike right for Chica's right arm pit. He was doing it one handed with the pry bar at the end, going for reach rather than power, but the accuracy of the strike convinced me Rico should have taken up fencing because damnit if it didn't strike true! Something metallic popped free and Chica's arm dangled free, giving Jon the leverage he needed to slam an elbow into her head, right around her temple.

Again, Chica wasn't human, so she didn't actually have a temple to be pulverised, but it must have done something to daze her, because her grip loosened on Jon enough for him to get the rest of the way free right as Rico yanked back the crowbar and I came dashing in. My tonfa was useless, reinforced carbon or no, except as a defensive tool against blows, but Chica still had knees and I curb stomped a mechanic's boot right into the back of one and it gave forwards. Rico was the next to turn on her, ready to give the coupe de grace with the hook of his crowbar. That was when we all heard a third shriek.

A three v three match essentially brought the whole fight into potential one on one matches against the animatronics, a prospect that didn't encourage any of us to continue the fight, so we'd all begun an immediate retreat from Chica and Bonnie when it dawned on us that we hadn't heard the third mechanical voice from the stage. My hear jerked around to Pirate's Cove's direction, where I saw the curtains fluttering from sudden movement...and Foxy the Pirate was sprinting as quickly as he could towards us! There wasn't even the thought of defending ourselves anymore, we just ran.

We ran right out of the dining hall into another hallway near the restrooms. We ran straight through the open kitchen while throwing doors partly closed behind us and continued on, with Jon in the lead and myself bringing up the rear. I tossed my head around to get a glimpse and let out a heartfelt curse while shouting to run faster. Foxy and Bonnie were damn near on our heels, and gaining ground with implacable speed I could only hope to outpace for another few seconds, so my hand whipped around to hurl my nightstick at Foxy. He slowed only for a brief moment to whip his hooked hand out in front of him and slash the whirling tonfa aside, but it was the moment we needed to put on a burst of extra speed.

Before I knew it, we'd all piled into my security office and I was hitting the button for the security door to slam shut behind us, just in time for Foxy to bounce off the heavy steel magnetized door. He wailed and screeched as he pounded at the door, furiously and fruitlessly trying to get at his prey. Jon and Rico were both gasping for breath, but I had just enough presence of mind to rush over and lock the other door in place, giving us all some breathing space while we collected our wits.

It was real. I hadn't been freaking out from some hallucinogen that'd been left over by some pranking staffer, and the animatronics themselves weren't some sick employees getting their jollies off wearing empty suits. Rico and Jon would have figured that out from the sheer physicality of the encounter, recognizing the difference between human muscle power and the strength of pure machinery. Something was very wrong with Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, and it was killing people.

My two friends must have had that same thought process running through their heads, because they turned and looked at me with the same, horrified expression. I myself could only give them a quiet, painfully aware smile as I pointedly said "I told you so...".

The rest of the night went without future trouble. As it turned out, having an extra pair of eyes along to keep an eye on each hallway while the third was checking the camera so we weren't blindsided by Foxy kept us from too busy to really chat, but I knew that it was also the new information they had to digest and process that kept any of us from feeling too talkative. We only had one close call, when Rico found out how quiet Chica could be before he slammed the door shut right in her face.

When 6am rolled around, Bonnie and company wandered off to their places without nary a glance at us. My friends quickly walked to the front doors with my keys while I hastily jotted out a note explaining there'd been an 'accident' with Chica that'd damaged her arm from a fallen over shelf. Since I'd double checked and saw there was no on-site storage for the camera data (cheaper to have a straight camera hook up than have all the cameras recording simultaneously), and we'd made sure to collect all our gear, there was very little to contradict my story. At 6:30 am, the day manager was arriving to relieve me, and I said nothing to him once more as I walked out into the parking lot to join my friends in the car.

Once I'd closed my door and slumped into the rear passenger door, all of us finally gave eachother a serious, significant look. "So..." Rico said, sitting behind the wheel of the car, his dark brown eyes intense despite their exhaustion. "What do we do?"

**Author's notes: This chapter was, surprisingly the least difficult for me to write since I'd often ran over the possibilities of how some fit 20 somethings would fare against Freddy and company in the first game. Specifically some fit 20 somethings that have watched plenty of slasher movies and already know all the rules once they've been established. I have no doubt that the only sane response in the second game would be 'leave the fucking restaurant and bolt the doors', but there's a lot more going on there than there is here, and I doubt I'll visit that setting ever.**

**But for now? Comment, criticize, or complain to your heart's content. See you all in the next chapter!**


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